


les rêves amoureux

by chants_de_lune



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Emotional Porn, Emotional Sex, F/M, Hallucinations, Living Together, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wet Dream, self indulgent references to greek mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 23:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chants_de_lune/pseuds/chants_de_lune
Summary: “The water makes you sick?” Bellamy asked, raising an eyebrow.  The man from Eligius IV shook his head.“Not physically sick.  But it might give you hallucinations."--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Bellamy drinks water from another planet and has a sex dream which is .... vivid, to say the least.He isn’t the only one who experiences pleasure.





	1. Bellamy's Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> for best effects, listen to this while you read (maybe with rain sounds in another tab)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pi6pLTrx94Q&list=PL8KVn2EQ_jy16G9KHpKJtLrd06fQT6pNR&index=2&ab_channel=HozierVEVO
> 
> beta'd by the wonderful talistheintrovert <3

_“I’m going on the first landing with you,” Clarke says to him, three days after they awoke from the deep sleep. Bellamy furrows his brow._

 

_“_ _Clarke, I hate getting separated as much as you do, but we need someone keeping morale stable onboard.”_

 

_“Diyoza can handle it. Madi’s going to stay close to Raven.” Clarke puts her hands on his shoulders. “I have to watch your back, after all the crap that I pulled.” Bellamy shakes his head._

 

_“You already have my forgiveness.” Clarke cocks her head, the kitten look in her eyes returning._

 

_“I need to feel like I’ve earned it, Bellamy.”_

 

_He nods, knowing the feeling that she’s describing all too well. They strap into the smaller ship for entry into the planet’s atmosphere._

 

_He thinks about telling her about his breakup yesterday. How a certain someone had screeched into his face at learning that he had been awake for 48 hours with Clarke before waking her up._

 

_But it’s a story for later. Right now, they have a planet to discover, and a promise to keep to their departed friend who guided them there._

 

* * *

On the second day after landing, Bellamy is escorted into the largest building in the Eligius 3 settlement with the rest of the awakened dozen. The next three hours are spent negotiating land, resources, and drawing up a contract.

 

It’s a bit mind-numbing, but as he catches Clarke’s eye from the other end of the table, the reality that war will not be an inevitability makes him nearly cry with relief.

 

After the discussions, all of them are led separately into smaller rooms, much like the offices on the Ark. Bellamy sits down on a comfortable sofa while an Eligius 3 representative, GARRISON printed on his uniform, sits in a chair across from him.

 

There’s something I need to tell you about the water.” Garrison says as he hands a flask to Bellamy. “It’s… well, the only way we can describe it is that it’s like the traveller’s disease back on Earth.”

 

“The water makes you sick?” Bellamy asked, raising an eyebrow. Garrison shook his head.

 

“Not physically sick. But it might give you hallucinations.”

 

Bellamy snorts. “Did you ever try jobi nuts?”

 

Garrison lets out a small laugh. “No, but those sound like something from Earth 1.” He rises slowly from his chair. Bellamy looks back at the flask of water.

 

“Not to come off as rude, but I know how easy it is to poison someone,” he says quietly.

 

Garrison doesn’t take offense. He motions for the flask, pouring a small amount into a glass on the table between them. He knocks it back quickly and hands the flask to Bellamy again.

“So we’re all drinking it and getting over it right away?” asks Bellamy, wiping the top of the flask with his sleeve.

 

Garrison nods.  “I’m a third generation citizen, but my grandfather was on the original mission. He told me stories about seeing entire masses of people screaming.” He gestures to the sofa. “This is a precaution. Considering the nature of some of your passengers, it might be better if they hallucinate away from people they might endanger.” Bellamy nods, seeing the logic in that choice.

 

“Will the door be locked?” he asks, realizing the precariousness of the situation. It makes his hackles rise.

 

“No, but I’ll be right outside,” Garrison walks out the door and leans his head around the doorjamb. “According to the files, the symptoms start within ten minutes, last about half an hour.” And with that, he closes the door and leaves Bellamy alone.

 

Bellamy sits back on the sofa, holding the flask in his hands. He isn’t a hardened criminal or a brainwashed warrior. It would have been much easier to have someone with him for this.

 

_Clarke._ His heart hammers as he rubs a hand over his face. He had seen the flash of her golden bob go into an office two doors down from his. Maybe his palms wouldn’t be clammy at the thought of the separation if there wasn’t a potentially triggering substance in front of him. A potentially triggering substance in front of her.

 

He slides off his boots and puts his feet up on the couch. _Fuck it._

 

He unscrews the cap and drinks it in one gulp.

 

The water is sweeter than on Earth, a sweetness that he can’t classify with any specific flavor. Must be a mineral in the soil.

 

He puts the flask on the table and idly leafs through a book left on the table by Garrison. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can touch base with Clarke. There’s six years of demons that she hasn’t had adequate time to tell him about yet. He grits his teeth. One more psychological hurdle for them before they settle into the closest thing they have to a utopia, because why not. Losing Monty and Harper wasn’t enough.

 

Quicker than he expects, his head starts to swim, and there’s a pounding in his temples. Nausea sets in as he drops the book on the floor. Vaguely he wonders what horror this hallucination might induce.

 

Watching his mother get floated? Seeing his sister in prison? The first war? Mount Weather? The first year on the Ring with the loss of Clarke so deep in his soul? Bellamy is not one for lack of heartaches.

 

He collapses on the sofa and his eyes fall shut.

 

* * *

 

 

_Probably the most shocking thing about the dream is that it isn’t a nightmare at all._

 

The water is what he feels first, soaking his hair and pelting his skin in small, even droplets. The sound is soothing, like rain. He opens his eyes and sees pristine tiles at his feet, a drain in front of him. Lifting his head towards the source of the golden light, there’s a showerhead up high. Two of them, actually.

 

The water is much warmer than the outdoor showers at Arkadia, much more gentle than the harsh spray at Mount Weather. He runs a hand through his hair, movement fuzzy in this dream state. He recalls Miller describing a similar bathroom in Becca’s mansion, but that memory feels distant.

 

Then he sees a shadow flicker from the other side of the misted door. Footsteps that he can barely discern over the sound of the water. He holds his breath as the door slides open. He doesn’t turn around, but he has a sense that figure is shorter than him, curvy.

 

“Can I join you?” asks a familiar voice.

 

_It’s her._

 

Bellamy exhales, nodding his head. “Yeah,” he says in a low voice, sensing her step closer. Clarke loops her arms around him, her head resting on his shoulder. Her left hand is anchored above his heart, the other is snug across his ribs.

 

“Today was rough.” she murmurs, and Bellamy shuts his eyes. It’s almost too much, her soothing tone, her hands, her tits pressed to his back and her hips cradling his ass. She’s the only one he would let hold him like this.

 

His previous lover never came close to the intimacy he was experiencing now. But Clarke was special. She was the only one who understood how guilt was a burden on his shoulders that would never fully lift. He could bare his soul to her, and she’d lift that cross with him.

 

God, he feels that tangible relief now across every inch of his skin.

 

“You alright?” she murmurs, her hands now moving and rubbing some fragrant substance into his hair.

 

“Better now,” he says, unable to hold in a soft sigh at the gentle scritch of her nails in his hair. He’s fantasized about taking care of her like this, shielding her from the onslaught of her demons. Feeling her do the same for him gives Bellamy an intoxicated rush. More than liquor or drugs, there’s a sense of permanency that comes with knowing that someone genuinely wants him. He’s only had a pale glimmer of that before, with Gina.

 

He leans forward slightly to let the suds rinse off his curls as Clarke starts rubbing his back with an oil that smells like roses to him.

 

“So strong,” he hears her whisper as her fingers sweep the breadth of his shoulders. “Atlas holding up the Earth.”

 

“Atlas held up the Sky,” he can’t help but correct, and he feels her laugh against his neck before pressing soft, sweet kiss to the spot.

 

“That’s even more fitting,” she sighs in his ear, and his heart swells.

 

Just the effortless massage of her hands is enough to stoke his lust into a gentle simmer. He’s half hard already and he never wants this to end. “Is it your turn now?” he quips, wanting to turn around, erection and all, and give her a dose of her own medicine. He wants to feel the knots in her muscles give way under his hands, he wants to touch dips and curves of soft, smooth skin.

 

And God, does he want passionately.

 

Clarke chuckled again, her hands back in their original position of hugging him to her chest. “Not yet,” she purrs, her left hand gliding down his chest, stomach, and pausing right on his hip.

“Not finished with you yet.”

 

Bellamy lets out an unrestrained groan, that easy glide of her hand had taken him from aroused to throbbing in mere seconds. Clarke had her other hand wrapped around his chest, but her fingers lingered on his groin, just inches above the base of his cock.

 

“You want this, right?” she asks, and that small hint of insecurity that he catches in her tone nearly rips his heart in half.

 

“Yes,” he says instantly, breathlessly, and he finally takes action by taking her hand, so small in his, and tugging it gently to his cock. “Feel how much I want you.”

 

Clarke moans loud enough for him to hear over the spray of the water. He rocks his ass against her hips, hoping that it stimulates her clit.

 

“How long have you wanted this?” she asks as she starts stroking him slowly.

 

“Always,” Bellamy answers, eyes slammed shut with his forearm braced against the wall of the shower. “Almost since the beginning. More every time I touched you,” he takes a breath, “every time that I held you in my arms.”

 

Her pace quickens.

 

“Really?” she asks, and there’s that tiny note of insecurity that he hates. Hate how she’s too deep in self-loathing to see how gone he is for her.

 

“Yes,” he admits easily, “Princess, my body took years to catch up with my head.” His chest heaves. “Years to catch up and stop wanting you in bed all those nights.” The confession takes a weight off his soul and he relapses into the pleasure of the moment, making incoherent sounds.

 

“And your heart?” Clarke wonders aloud, and he finally looks over his shoulder at her. The water had slicked back her golden hair and darkened it to a mellow honey tone, accentuating the features on her face. His eyes took in the contours of her jaw, the bloom in her cheeks, her dimples. Her lips were parted, and their pinkness was perfect with her eyes. Those damn ocean eyes that he willingly drowned himself in, time and time again.

 

“My heart never stopped wanting you,” he reveals, watching Clarke’s eyes flutter shut and her bottom lip disappear between her teeth. His gazes travels down, past the beautiful arch of her neck, the temptation of her collarbone, and he lets himself savor the generous swells of her breasts.

 

The indulgence is fleeting. Bellamy sees the rose-tinted pearls of her nipples and he throws his head back, a thrill sparking in his core. He’s the one now biting his lip. Clarke is still rubbing him, hasn’t ceased, and he is truly fucked at the size difference between their hands. The slimness of Clarke’s deft fingers makes the strokes longer, his cock seem larger.

 

As if reading his mind, Clarke moans against his skin. “I knew you’d be big like this.”

 

Bellamy nearly comes in that moment, and he clenches his jaw. He senses the current of reciprocity and leaps in to ride the high it gives him. “Yeah, Clarke?” Words start spilling from his lips.

“You thought about fucking me?”

 

Clarke nods, her hand moving faster. “Constantly,” she gasps, and he feels her grinding against his ass.

 

“Tell me,” he growls, not failing to notice how the command makes her quiver.

 

“Every night when the stars appeared, I looked up and I wanted you.” Her words are like a siren song, and he has no intention of tying himself to the mast of the ship. “I wanted you soft, I wanted you rough,” she gaps, then lets out a soft whine. “I needed you to hold me, take care of me, keep me safe.”

 

“I will,” Bellamy vows, taking her other hand and holding it to his heart. “I’ll be there, I promise. I never want you to feel alone or afraid again.”

 

Clarke cries out softly, and he twists in her embrace. He cups her cheek with his free hand. “Let me touch you,” he pleads. “Let me make love to you.”

 

She shakes her head and nudges his wandering hand away. “This is all for you, not me.”

 

“Clarke-”

 

“Bellamy, I left you to die, and I thought it was the right thing to do.”

 

“I left you to die, because I knew it was the right thing to do.” His breath is ragged. “But we both survived, we can bury those sins with all the lives we’ve taken.”

 

There’s a beat of silence when his words sink in, but Clarke isn’t quiet for long.

 

“Come for me, Bell-” she begs, her hand pistoning too fast for him to register each stroke. He thinks about how the hand pushing him to climax stitched wounds and pulled levers to save their people and he finds himself on the brink of orgasm.

 

Why won’t she let him touch her, make her come before he does?

 

“I’m close… I’m really close....”

 

Clarke’s teeth find his ear and give it a gentle tug. “Come for me, think about coming inside your princess, coming in her warm, wet cunt.”

No sooner do those sweet, filthy words leave Clarke’s lips, that Bellamy finally lets go. His groan is guttural as he braces himself with both forearms against the wall, his back spasming. His entire frame shakes and she is still massaging his cock as he streams over her knuckles.

 

“I love you,” he hears her whisper.

 

Bellamy makes a sound deep in his throat and he bats her hand away from his cock, not yet entirely spent. He turns and crushes her between his chest and forearms.

 

The oil she rubbed into his skin makes for effortless gliding as their bodies began moving in tandem. His lips embrace hers and both of them let out a moan of delight. Bellamy feels something stronger than the orgasm work itself up deep within him, a sense that this moment is far overdue.

 

Her tongue stokes the fire in his soul. He is the hearth of Olympus and she is Hestia. His constant companion. The one who keeps him alive. His home.

He cups her cheeks and kisses the same path that his eyes took earlier. His hands slide down to her ass. He grips it tight as he bites at her breast, adoring how perfectly it fits in his palms.

 

He drops to his knees, not by force but by choice, and that liberty sends a thrill down his spine. If she’s Hestia, she’s an overlooked goddess who deserves worship more than anyone else. He runs his hands down her thighs and pushes them apart. He looks up at her with a question in his eyes. If the neverending “yes” that had fallen from her lips over the past minute wasn’t enough, she nods frantically, utterly wrecked already. Cheeks flushed and lip red from her teeth.

 

“I love you too,” he says, caressing her hips. “Let me love you.”

 

Her hand curls in his hair and Bellamy wastes not a moment longer. He plies her clit with soft, searching licks, his fingers grazing her slit. She’s wet, not from the water, and the full scent of her has him growling. He dips his tongue for a full tase and moans against her cunt. Sharp, healthy, intimately Clarke, and Bellamy wonders if this is a mortal’s ambrosia.

 

He treats her clit gently as he eases two fingers inside her. He can hear her moans but with her thighs pressed to his ears, the sound is muffled. He crooks his knuckles and feels her tightness gradually lessen until his fingers move more seamlessly. He knows she could take his whole cock easily.

 

Her moans grow louder and he curls tighter with his hand and sucks her clit into his mouth.

 

“I’m so close….”

 

He’s going to make her come. He’s going to feel her clench and then spasm around his fingers and it will be a moment he would never forget. He can’t take his mouth off her to tell her to come so he growls it against her skin. He’s rewarded with a soft pleas of his name and her legs trembling around him.

 

“Bellamy….”

 

Any moment now.

 

“Bellamy please…”

 

He doesn’t relent. He needs this.

 

“Bellamy, I’m gonna...”

 

He needs her.

 

_“Bellamy!”_

 

* * *

 

 

A sharp pain spirals on the side of his head as Bellamy careens off the couch with a loud thump! He groans, rubbing the ache as he sits up, blinking blearily. He’s back in the Eligius IV

headquarters. He’s alone. He’s completely dressed and dry. Bellamy takes a glance down at his pants.

 

Well, not completely dry.

 

Grateful that the dark fabrice hides the slickness soaking through his boxers, Bellamy stands and straightens himself. Taking several deep breaths, he pushes the dream to the back of his head.

 

But it doesn’t fade, almost every moment replays itself in clarifying detail.

 

Clarke…. _Christ._

 

He swears under his breath as he opens the door. Garrison is nowhere in sight, but another door is opening, two doors down. A bob of blonde frizz appears, and Bellamy’s heart does a flip.

 

Clarke’s eyes snap to his, and they widen, her lips parting a little. He takes two strides as she does, and within moments, they’re standing less than a foot from each other.

 

Clarke seems out of breath, redness in her cheeks. Bellamy puts his hand on her arm, struggling to ignore the spark of warmth.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks gently. Clarke nods, trembling slightly as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

 

“I-I’m fine, it was…” He sees the quiver in her lip and something in his chest twists hards. He got a wet dream and she was haunted by a nightmare.

 

"I’m here,” he whispers, hand gliding from her arm to the centre of her back.

 

Clarke shakes her head. “It wasn’t bad,” she reassures him, then drops her gaze and steps around him. “Just overwhelming….”

 

“Same here,” he mutters, falling into step beside her as they walk toward their assigned housing.

 

* * *

 

Fuck, he isn’t sure how he’s going to sleep tonight.

  
Lying in bed a floor above her room and knowing that she’s all that he wants.


	2. Clarke's Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke drinks the same water, and falls into a similar dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for best effects, listen to this while you read (maybe with fire sounds in another tab)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pi6pLTrx94Q&list=PL8KVn2EQ_jy16G9KHpKJtLrd06fQT6pNR&index=2&ab_channel=HozierVEVO

 

_ Reconciliation was painful, less so with Bellamy and more so with the others.  She was tempted many times to go to Lieutenant Shaw and ask him how Catholics did it, how they handled the drowning feeling of guilt.  But even with every snipe and glare from people she considered friends, people she had hurt even if indirectly, the healing process felt better.   _

_ She reminded herself that good people put in this pain and suffering to be good, and many individuals simply blamed others for their actions. Monty forgave her, Monty had faith that she could be good again, and she wasn’t going to let him down.  _

  
  


The woman from Eligius III has dark, pixie-cut hair, with SAWYER stamped on her uniform jacket.  She regards Clarke with curiosity. 

 

“Your people have suffered, haven’t they?” 

 

Clarke nods, “We have. We come from many different places, but we all went into cryo for over a hundred years. Earth was destroyed, and it will not heal for several lifetimes.” 

 

“Tragedy begets unity,” Sawyer remarks sagely. 

 

“So it would seem.” 

 

“And you were born on the Ark? I’m afraid that I’m not familiar with that vessel.” 

 

“I was. When I was just about 18, they sent me and 100 other subjects to Earth to test its viability. Mr. Blake was part of that group.  I spent the next six years,” her jaw clenches, “living on Earth as a radiation wave survivor, because of Becca’s black blood injection.” 

 

“That, I am familiar with,” Sawyer comments. “So you were raised with technology?” 

 

Clarke nods again.  Sawyer leans forward, her hands folded in her lap. 

 

“Tell me, Miss Griffin, are you familiar with the concept of the Prime Directive?” 

 

Clarke smiles.  “Yes, I have seen some classic interpretations of what our ancestors thought space exploration would entail.” 

 

Sawyer chuckles.  “According to that principle, we both owe something to each other. We will do our best to preserve your quality of life -”

 

“-And we will not interfere with your way of life,” Clarke says in response.  “Trust me, Lieutenant Sawyer, Mr. Blake and I will make sure that all of the people still asleep onboard my ship will be gradually rehabilitated before integration.” 

 

Sawyer nods.  “A big accomplishment to promise.  You two have seen war, haven’t you?”   

 

Ghosts flicker in Clarke’s eyes.  “Yes, and that is why we want no conflict with you.” 

 

Sawyer makes a pleased face. “And thus you uphold your end of the Prime Directive.” 

 

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “And your end, Lieutenant? I was told the water here might have harmful effects.” 

 

“My grandmother was on the original mission.” she says, pouring Clarke a glass. “When I was a little girl, she told me that the water made her see a wave of fire, consuming everything around her.” 

 

“No idea what that’s like,” Clarke says dryly, taking the glass and placing it on the table beside her. “Do your children get hallucinations when they drink from the springs for the first time?” 

 

Sawyer shakes her head.  “Whatever that substance is, the immunity passes either through utero or breastfeeding, we’re still not sure yet.”  She folds her hands in front of her. “You and your people will be the first to encounter its effects in over a hundred years.”

 

Clarke pushes the glass forward slightly.  “Would you mind taking a sip first?” she asks.  

 

Sawyer does so without irritation.  “Miss Griffin, please know that none of us want you dead,” she says. “Actually, it’s a miracle that you arrived when you did.  Our statistics predicted underpopulation and inbreeding within four generations unless we instituted a fertility program.” 

 

“On the Ark, we had the opposite problem.” Clarke raises a brow.  “Glad that we could be of service to your gene pool.” 

 

Sawyer stands  up and heads for the door.  “You’re young, so if you have your eye on someone compatible, we’d appreciate the contribution,” she quips.  “I’ll be right outside the door.” 

 

She leaves, and Clarke rolls her eyes, a little weirded out by the exchange.  “Someone compatible,” she huffs, shaking her head. 

 

There is someone compatible alright, but he was no longer hers, maybe he never was.  The two of them had gone and broken a trust weakened by six years of separation. Both to blame, but maybe she had made the harsher of their choices.  Seems only fair that the universe preemptively denied him to her. 

 

A number of “compatible”  Eligius III men would probably ask for her, perhaps even that strange grizzled man who had escorted her down this chamber.  

 

Clarke settles on the floor, far away from  the couch and table, lest the water give her a seizure.  She downs the glass in one sip, surprised at the lack of bitterness.  She shuts her eyes, and sooner than she expected, a dizzy feeling overcomes her.  Sharp sensations stab at her stomach. She tries opening her eyes, hands clutching her waist, but the muted colors of the room swim and blend in front of her like paint on a palette. 

 

She rolls to her side, stifling the urge to cry with the pain. Part of her wonders if her intuition was right, and whatever was in that glass was intended to kill her.   

 

Would dying be really that bad? After everything that she’s seen and done? 

 

Madi would miss her, but she had an entire group of people still worshipping her despite the Flame’s malfunction in cryo.  The others would dismiss their anger and write her death off as an unfortunate loss. Bellamy -- Bellamy would be hurt if she died.  And she couldn’t bear to hurt him anymore. 

 

“Don’t let me die,” she whispers thickly as she slips from consciousness. 

 

But no ghosts emerge to meet her.  

 

_ Fire.  _

 

_ Fire is what she hears first, the familiar, soothing crackling noise of wood ignited.  She is still laying on her side, amd warmth is emanating somewhere to her left.  _

 

_ Earth. It smells like Earth.  Their Earth.  _

 

_ It isn’t linoleum underneath her frame, but an Ark-issue bedroll with a fur pillow.  Both are lumpy from the uneven terrain beneath her.  _

 

_ A spark flies past her eyelids and she opens them, blinking a bit as she focuses on a figure sitting close to her, watching over her.  _

 

_ “That was a nice nap,”  he says, in that soft, deep tone she loves so much.  She sits up and looks around their makeshift camp. The woods are ones she recognizes, about two miles outside of Arkadia.  _

 

_ “You still had half an hour,” he remarks, “My watch hasn’t ended yet.”    _

 

_ Clarke furrows her brow, and then it clicks in.  The campfire, the supplies… it’s a night patrol. The Ark had come down and the Council had stepped back in;  she and Bellamy were still leaders, but they no longer had to make the most difficult choices.  _

 

_ She peers more closely at Bellamy, and her heart sinks a little.  He’s young and clean-shaven, his hair is a shaggy crop of curls which wrap around his ears and brush the nape of his neck.   With the fire beside him and the warm summer air, he had stripped off his jacket, blue t-shirt stuck to his arms.  _

 

_ He looks like the Bellamy  from her memories. The Bellamy that she faced a wave of radiation to save.   _

 

_ She smiles at him, lets her shoulders shrug.  “I’m not that tired.” There was hardly a sound around them save for the fire and the crickets.  An owl hooted in the distance.  _

 

_ “Of all the places they send us,” Bellamy mutters, “we patrol the one patch of woods where no one goes.”  _

 

_ “When do they expect us back?”  she asks.  _

 

_ He smiles.  “Not until dawn. Which means--” His voice is teasing as he leans back to scoot himself closer to her.  “Finally a night with some peace and quiet.”  _

 

_ Her heart stutters for a moment, but then she deflects.  _

 

_ “Tired of the girls queuing for your room, Bellamy?”  _

 

_ His curls bounce as he shakes his head.   _

 

_ “C’mon Princess,”  he murmurs teasingly, “you know me better than that.”  _

 

_ Clarke arches an eyebrow as Bellamy reclines next to her, arm braced out and head resting in the palm of his hand.    _

__

_ “I do, huh?” she says, reaching for the canteen sitting next to her knee.  _

 

_ “Yeah,” Bellamy whispers.  She can feel his breath against her neck . “You know I’ve been getting ticked off seeing Collins following you around whenever I try to sit down with you for a drink.”  _

 

_ Clarke nearly spits out her sip of water.  Her heart is frantically trying to escape her chest because this dream is not even close to reality.   _

 

_ Bellamy flirting with her, doing patrol without the risk of inciting war, bringing up Finn as if he didn’t die a cruel death… it’s the result of six years’ wishful thinking preying on her subconscious.   _

 

_ As lucid as this dream is, Clarke’s panic fades away as she reaches over to run her hand down Bellamy’s forearm.  _

_ “I don’t see anyone bothering us now,” she mentions aloud, watching his eyes dilate in the firelight.   _

 

_ He’s warm, his tawny skin covered in hair and tense muscle.   _

_ He feels so real.  _

_ And yet he’s not.   _

 

_ That ache in her heart eases as Bellamy presses a soft kiss to the side of her neck.   _

 

_ “No one’s around….we could have some fun,” he whispers, in a tone reminiscent of Unity Day.  “Do something that will really piss off Byrne.”  _

 

_ “There’s my rebel,” she hums affectionately as Bellamy’s hand dips below her shirt, caressing her stomach.  His lips press similar soft touches to her jaw, cheek, all around her ear. She tilts her head fully back against her pillow, wrapping her arm around him so she could play with his curls.  Her eyes half shut, warm haze surrounding her like a limbo state she never wants to leave.  _

 

_ “Tell me, Princess,” his fingers toy with the zipper on her jeans, “did those Dropship boys really know how to take care of you?”   Her breathing gets erratic as she nods for him to push his hand further down.  _

 

_ But she still manages a smirk.  _

 

_ “Oh, I think I could’ve been satisfied by one of your Dropship girls, Bellamy.”  _

 

_ He chuckles against her throat, hand cupping her core with no sense of urgency.  “Maybe,” he assents. “But it seems like you’re stuck with me.”  _

 

_ Something deep in Clarke gives way, and she cups his jaw in her hand, kisses his lips firmly.  When his mouth pushes back against hers, it’s a fleeting moment of everything feeling perfectly in place.  _

_ “Trust me, Bell,”   her voice has some husk to it, “I’ve had literal dreams about being stuck with you.”   _

 

_ He laughs gently, but this construct of him has no idea what she truly means.   _

 

_ “Three months ago, I never thought I’d hear you say that, Princess,” he murmurs as his breath ghosts on her ear.   Clarke let out another soft hum as she gently scratches the nape of his neck .  _

 

_ “Yeah, we grew closer…now I see you as someone who could be my guy.”   _

 

_ Bellamy’s whiskey eyes turn midnight in the firelight.  He lets out a gruff sound and kisses her jawline and all down her neck.  The hand in her pants presses firmer against her core. His whispers are almost lost to the sound of the fire, but she catches them.  _

 

_ “Your guy, huh? I like that,” his teeth tug gently at the fabric of her shirt, her v-neck slipping down her shoulder and taking her loose bra strap with it. “I can be that.  I’ll be that if you’ll be my girl, Clarke.”  _

 

_ His last words send sparks down Clarke’s spine as she nods.  His hand is moving slowly, shifting from side to side over her underwear, as if exploring the intricate curves.  _

 

_ Bellamy senses her enthusiasm for those words and grins.  “My sweet girl,” he coos again, rocking his hand back and forth.  “I want to feel you soak through these shorts.” His other hand tugs at her henley in tandem with his teeth, pushing her breasts upwards from the collar of her shirt and the cups of her worn down Ark-issue bra.   Clarke would have reached behind to yank everything off if she wasn’t frozen, afraid that a sudden wrong movement would take her away from this moment.  _

 

_ Bellamy nuzzled her cleavage while he rubbed small circles over her clothed clit.  Clarke felt a small arch beginning to rise in the middle of her back, frissons sparking on her spine.   _

 

_ “Pull these pretty tits out for me,” he rasps on her neck, and Clarke follows his lead, stress unfurling from her mind in loose spirals.  _

 

_ It feels so good.  So good to throw off responsibility and indulge in another person.  Let someone else hold the reins. She cannot remember the last time she felt this ease. Did it ever happen on the Ground? Was it before she ended up in the Skybox?  _

 

_ Bellamy groans as he kisses her breasts, tongue sweeping around a peak.  He pulls back to take her in, eyes blown and lips wet.  _

 

_ “You’ve got such perfect tits,” he tells her, his own chest heaving, “gorgeous, gorgeous like Aphrodite.”  _

 

_ “Says the guy built like Adonis,” Clarke chuckles, running her palm across the muscles in his shoulders.   _

 

_ Bellamy chuckles, and the fingers applying steady pressure to her clit sneak further down.  He pressed soaked fabric against her cunt and Clarke bites back a moan.  _

 

_ “Drenched already,” he murmurs, bringing his hand back up so he can slide it under her shorts, “And I’m nowhere near finished with you.”  _

 

_ Clarke lets out a frustrated laugh that soon turns into a whine.  _

 

_ His fingers scratch past the coarse hair on her mons before settling in her folds.   _

 

_ “Dreamed that you’d be this wet for me,” he says with another kiss, “Gonna make it so good.”   _

 

_ Clarke cants her hips up to spur him on, and he sinks his index and middle in with no friction.  Her head falls back on her sleepmat, pleasure setting her afire. Bellamy works his fingers like a piston with his thumb pressed to her clit.  Tightness coils in her core.  _

 

_ “Want to feel you come on my hand,” he whispers, relentlessly giving her what she wants.  His head ducks back to her chest. Clarke tugs on his hair as she chases it.  _

 

_ “Is that all you want?” _

 

_ “I want you,” his voice is as low as a cello, and it tugs at the sensation building inside her.  “You’re all that I want.”  _

 

_ Flashes of reality flicker by her eyelids and she nearly falls out of the trance.  She pulls his face up to kiss him, drawing out six years of yearning in this blissful fantasy.  _

 

_ “I want you too, Bellamy.”  _

 

_ He must have sensed her slip because his fingers move faster. Building her back up.  _

 

_ “How?” he asks.  A look in his eyes tells her that he’d rip off his clothes if he wasn’t already occupied.  _

_ Clarke grins, feeling herself grow close.   _

 

_ “I want to make you feel as good.”  _

 

_ “Won’t be difficult, Clarke,” he laughs, pulling her closer with his free hand.   _

 

_ “I could ride you,” she whispers in his ear, her knees starting to shake. He growls agreement, marking the rise of her breast.  “I could get on my hands or knees,” her voice gets more ragged, “or just my knees.”  _

 

_ Bellamy pulls up to look at her: his hair is ravaged, his eyes are devouring her.  He’s perfect.  _

 

_ He’s Monet, painting water lilies beneath her eyes with each stroke.  Michelangelo, working her marble skin with his hands. Apollo, strumming her heartstrings like a  lyre.  _

 

_ “You want that?” he asks, and she wants to smooth away that little incredulous, insecure crease in his brow.  _

 

_ “Of course, Bellamy,” she says, voice hitching on his name.  Her toes are curling now, she’s so close. “I haven’t done it with any other guy, but I'd do for you." _

__

_Bellamy shudders over her._

 

_ “I’ll get you off,” he murmurs, “and you have your way with me.”  Clarke laughs again, and keens as his fingers thrust into her core.   _

 

_ “Come for me.” _

 

_ “I want to.”  _

 

_ “You can, just let go.”  _

__

_ “Oh Bellamy,”  _

 

_ “That’s it, come for me.” _

 

_ “Come for me, Clarke.”  _

 

_ “Bell-”  _

 

_ “That’s it, that’s my girl.”  _

 

_ “BELLAMY!” _

 

_ - _

 

When her body clenches, she springs up and finds herself back in the Eligius III office. Her chest heaves for several moments.  She pants, feeling the pull of the muscles in her legs. 

 

She had felt something during the spell.   An orgasm, given the aftereffects. Most of the memory is sharp, save for the end.  But she remembers waking up before returning the favor on the subject of her imagination.  

 

Clarke stands up and fixes her hair, feeling odd that she cared about reciprocating on a figure in a dream.   

 

It wasn’t just anyone, it was Bellamy,” a voice in her head tells her.  She pushes it away. Bellamy didn’t want her, he had moved on, fallen in love, and whatever they had a score and century ago, it had vanished.  

 

Dissolved like the dream the water had given her. 

 

There’s a knock on the door.  Sawyer. She opens it at Clarke’s response. 

 

“Are you alright?” she asks.  Clarke nods. 

 

“What I saw wasn’t real. I’m fine,” she says, but her lungs are still burning.    

 

Sawyer gives her an odd look, but opens the door wide enough for her to exit.  

 

Clarke walks out of the office, and up ahead, she spots Bellamy leaving as well.  Her heart lurches traitorously. Half of her wants to run away, half wants to run into his arms.  Her jaw drops slightly as his eyes lock onto hers. 

 

“Are you alright?” he asks as they come closer.  His tone is far more caring than Sawyer’s, but it doesn’t mean anything.  She pushes a strand of hair back anxiously. 

 

“I-I’m fine, it was…”  She can’t lie to him, but the truth is embarrassing.  Embarrassing considering that Bellamy probably just revisited an old horror while she was being pleasured.    

 

“I’m here,” he murmurs, and the careful hand on her back nearly makes her cry. 

 

“It wasn’t bad,” she’s quick to find the half-truth which will set his mind at ease.   “Just overwhelming.” 

 

“Same here,” he says,  walking in tandem with her towards the apartments.  Clarke shuts her eyes and inhales. Maybe after a drink, she’ll ask him about his dream.  Help him chase away the demons. 

In the meantime, she’ll block her fantasy from her head, and lock it deep within her heart.   

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw that this fic made it into several rounds of the BFWAs! 
> 
> Thank you so much! 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope this chapter was as enjoyable as the first.  
> Please give feedback, and expect the conclusion in 2019!
> 
> EDIT: in case this comes up in the comments - Clarke doesn't know that Bellamy has broken up with Echo yet!


	3. a new reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy settle into the new planet, and each other's lives

 

**_Unity Day Morning_ **

 

_She heard his footsteps before he came into view.She shifted on the tree branch, holding her sketch and her charcoal in one hand._

 

_“Please tell me that you have a gun this time,” Bellamy said a bit crossly, folding his arms against his chest.Clarke lifted the pistol laying in her lap and showed it to him. His expression eased up._

 

_“What are you doing outside of camp? In a tree?”_

 

_“Hiding.”_

 

_“From who?”_

 

_Clarke took a deep breath and peered down at him.“Hiding from Finn.”_

 

_A furrow appeared in his brow.“Collins trying to hurt you?”_

 

_She sighed.“Not in the way that you’re thinking.”_

 

_Bellamy didn’t say anything for a moment.He slung his rifle to hang on his back._

_“Can I come up?”_

 

_Clarke flicked her wrist. “Go ahead.”_

 

_Bellamy reached for a low branch and gracefully swung himself onto one across from hers.He slid his rifle back into his lap.Clarke looked at him, -waiting- and he scowled._

 

_“What? Go on, vent to me, I need you back in camp.”_

 

_Clarke blew out a long stream of breath.“Finn has Raven, and he still wants me on the side.”_

 

_“Greedy bastard,”Bellamy muttered, knuckles turning white on the barrel of his gun._

 

_“Says Mr. Menage à Trois.”_

 

_“Their idea, not mine.”_

 

_She snorted at his deflection.Her gaze went distant as she stared deep into the forest._

 

_“I just…”_

 

_“What?”_

 

_“…Maybe I don’t deserve the kind of love that I dream about.”_

 

_“And what kind of love do you dream of, Princess?” asked Bellamy, brow raised._

 

_“One made from loyalty, respect, and affection,” she said defensively.Bellamy’s face became solemn, and Clarke lowered her armor, muttering, “Is that too much for a person like me to ask for?”_

 

_“It’s not,” said Bellamy, startling her.He scrubbed a hand over his face.“You may have blood on your hands but you stay up half the night in medbay for every kid with a scrape, broken bone, strange rash… “He shifted his shoulders.“So if you want that kind of love, you deserve someone who’s worthy.”_

 

_Clarke smiled softly.“What about you, Bellamy? Do you want love?”_

 

_He nearly smiled back, then he caught himself and scowled.“Love? Christ no, Clarke. You think I’m ready to settle down and follow everything my woman tells me to do?”_

 

_“That’s a jaded view ofromance,” she said, biting her lip against a laugh._

 

_“Life is jaded, I’m just trying to enjoy the simple pleasures,” he said, shrugging.Clarke sighed, staring back into the woods._

 

_“Hey,” his boot tapped the branch she was sitting on.“How about we make a deal?”_

 

_Clarke furrowed her brows.“For what?”_

 

_“If you’re still single when I’m thirty-“_

 

_“Oh for goodness sake, Bellamy,” her head hit the tree, “Don’t-“_

 

_“Hey, I’m serious,” he said, warmth emerging in his voice.“When I’m seventy years old…”_

 

_“I know you don’t think we’re going to live that long,” Clarke said under her breath.A tenuous moment hung between them as they looked into the camp.Ninety-five teenagers, on top of a ticking time bomb.Bellamy exhaled._

 

_“When I’m 156 years old…”_

 

_She could not help but to break into laughter. Bellamy put his hand on the small branch between them._

 

_“Listen to me,” a rare smile was etched on his face, “When I am 156 years old, I will give you the love you deserve.”_

 

_Clarke shook her head, but she reached over to place her hand on top of his._

 

_“And when I’m 151,“ she grinned, “you better believe I will hold you to that promise.”_

 

_Bellamy chuckled -actually chuckled- and squeezed her fingertips when they wrapped around his hand.They sat for several moments like that, listening to the birds in the trees.The wind blew through his curls and lifted her hair aloft from her shoulders.Bellamy’s hand was rough and warm._

 

_Then something heavy toppled over by the campfire, causing several people to shout._

 

_“Let’s get back down there,” Clarke said, putting the charcoal in her pocket and rolling up her sketch.Bellamy stood up and scaled a few more branches to give her room to climb down._

_She looked at him for a moment.He was hovering over her,only one foot on a branch, holding the tree with one hand and letting the rest of his body drift.Looking more handsome than he had any right to look._

 

_She dropped to the ground still rolling her eyes at herself._

 

* * *

 

 

“Thank you so much Clarke,” Emori says as she tidies the counter in their small kitchenette. “This means a lot to me.”

 

It isn’t a problem,” says Clarke, forcing a smile onto her lips.“I certainly understand wanting a night in.” She packs another shirt into an overnight bag and looks at her flatmate.“But why did you agree in the first place to housing with me? I thought you and Murphy would have a place together.”

 

“Once they fix the AC in Murphy’s unit, I probably will,” she says, shrugging.“But when they insisted on taking him to medical weeks ago for his arm, you … you just seemed lonely.”Her eyes flit to the ground and back up.“Once I knew that Madi would be staying with Gaia, I figured you would need someone.”

 

The smile on Clarke’s face softens into something genuine.“Thank you, and I really do appreciate that.Don’t worry about me once you move out.”

 

Emori grins.“I won’t.No one stands as strong as Clarke Griffin.” 

 

Clarke lets out a small laugh.A knock comes at that moment.She swings her bag over her shoulder and turns the handle. Murphy leans against the door frame, his shirt suggestively unbuttoned.Clarke raises an eyebrow, andhe mirrors her reaction. 

 

“Any rules for me, Griffin?” he asks, smirking as he enters their unit.Clarke rolls her eyes.

 

“Open the windows afterward, don’t disturb the neighbors, and do not leave any stains on the furniture in the kitchen or living room,” she says, hand on the doorframe as she stares at him with narrowed eyes. 

 

Murphy holds his hands up.“We will honestly try our best.”

 

Clarke makes a soft, “mhm” sound as she closes the door.She hears Emori’s giggles as she walks to the end of the hallway and ascends the stairs. A deep sigh leaves her lips.Between rehabilitating two factions of soldiers, acclimation to a new culture, her own therapy, there hasn’t been time for romantic developments on her end.She is happy that Murphy and Emori at least, had swung back into love. 

 

Her fingertips trace the edge of an old-fashioned radiator as she walks down the hallway above her unit. Madi was five doors down, but someone was closer.She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door with a simple inscription. 

 

It opens, and Bellamy appears.He seems pleased, but confused at the bag she was carrying. 

 

“Something wrong?” He asks. Clarke shakes her head. 

 

“No.But Emori is having Murphy over for the night, since his unit’s AC is broken.” 

 

Bellamy grimaces, but it means that he was suppressing a laugh. Clarke could still read him. 

“Are you saying that you got sexiled by your flatmate?” 

 

Clarke lets out a slight scoff, shaking her head.“Apparently they like to be… enthusiastic.” 

 

Bellamy mimes a hurl, putting his hand up to his mouth.“That certainly brings back memories.”His head bobs away from her.“Come inside.” 

 

Clarke drops her shoes at the door and her bag at the end of the couch. In the three weeks they had been here, she has never entered his unit.Bellamy’s flat is spartan, naturally.The one luxury besides the monitor is a carved, elegant bookcase which takes up an entire wall.Half-filled with books he had borrowed or perhaps copied from the Eligius III archives, he had lined up various trinkets on the shelves.

He had probably built it himself.It would certainly explain the splinters in his hands a week ago that he had told her not to worry about. Clarke looks away from the bookcase and her eyes fix on an empty spot by the door. 

 

“Clarke?”Bellamy’s voice tries to stir her.He’s leaning against the doorframe. Clarke shakes herself out of the moment. 

 

“Sorry it was just…”.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks after a pause. Clarke bites the inside of her cheek, then decided to admit it.Admit her curiosity about why this unit was 100% percent Bellamy and no one else. 

 

“I was just thinking that spot is where someone would put their sword,”she says quietly, shame creeping into her voice as she finished. Bellamy sighs, uncrossing his arms. 

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

 

“You’re right,” he cuts her off.“She doesn’t live here.She never has.” 

 

The information hits Clarke like fire to skin.“You two broke up?” 

 

Bellamy nods, a tick appearing in his jaw. “A while ago.” 

“You alright?” she asks, head tilted.“You don’t have to tell me why it happened, if you don’t want to.” 

 

Bellamy lets out a sigh, sitting down on the couch.

 

“She never changed.The years on the ring made her seem kind but,” he stares down at his hands, “she’s more selfish than she led me to think.”He runs his thumb across his knuckles. Clarke nods. 

 

“It sucks,” she says softly.Bellamy shrugs. 

 

“I mean…look at where we are.These units are better than anything I ever had on the Ark.The food actually tastes good.I’m warm, I have new clothes and books,” he looks around his unit with a smile, and his eyes are twinkling when he turns back to Clarke.“Not too bad for a bachelor.” 

 

Clarke laughs, raising her brows.“Yeah, and a whole planet full of new people to meet.”

 

Bellamy shakes his head with a soft sound, leaning back on the couch.“Not tonight, though.”He picks up a remote to turn on his monitor.“Tonight is for staying in, and you are welcome to join me.” 

 

“What are we watching?” She asks, pulling up her knees and tucking her feet into a corner of the couch. 

 

He scrolls through a list of video files.“They’ve kept a variety of cooking shows, which I find interesting.”

 

Clarke raises a brow.“Have you seen the one where they give the chefs four ingredients that they have to use in a dish?” 

 

Bellamy shakes his head and tosses the remote to her.“Find it while I get you a blanket and a pillow for the couch.” 

 

“You’re good with me staying over?”

 

His eyes fall to the bag at her feet. 

 

“You weren’t going to stay with Madi?”

 

Clarke sighs, shaking her head.“She’s with Gaia.”

 

“How do you feel about that?”

 

“It is what it is,” she mutters, staring at her feet.“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t with keeping her away from the mysteries in that AI.”

 

Bellamy’s hand falls comfortingly on her shoulder.“I’ll make us some tea,” he says, rising off the couch. Clarke thumbs through the programs until she finds the cooking competition.Bellamy returns with a pillow tucked under his arm, a blanket over his shoulder, and two steaming cups. 

 

“Thank you,” Clarke takes one, feeling the warmth reverberate against her palms.She sets it down on a coaster and picks up her bag. In the bathroom, she changes into pajamas and runs a comb through her hair.The little bottles that Eligius III had given her as a gift — a cleanser for her face, a soft scrub, a lavender-scented lotion — all of it feels like a luxury.She pats it on and rinses her skin, enjoying its smoothness under her fingertips. 

 

Bellamy has the first episode queued when she sits back down.She wraps the blanket around her knees and curls up at one end of the couch.Halfway through the episode, he puts his arm up along the high edge of the couch, leaving his side open.His shy glance at Clarke’s feet and then up to her eyes confirms that it’s an invitation.Gradually she scoots down until her head is resting on his chest, his heartbeat thudding peacefully underneath her cheek.

 

He presses play on the second episode, but she cannot remember who the contestants are. 

 

When she wakes up the next morning, the pillow is fluffed and tucked firmly under her head.The blanketisn’t tangled around her ankles but instead is draped over her entire frame.The coffee pot is bubbling and its comforting scent wafts past her face.Clarke stands up with a stretch and pads over to the note left on his counter. 

 

_Left some coffee in the pot, have a good day in the clinic.It was nice having you over._

_-Bell_

 

* * *

 

She packs up her bag and returns to her unit after her shift ends.Murphy and Emori stumble out of her door just as she arrives, blushes on their faces and bruises on their collarbones that Clarke doesn’t point out. 

 

The lovers spend the night in the city, and she relaxes for five minutes, before spending the next hour contemplating whether or not to invite Bellamy over. Her dream reanimates itself in her memory. Just short of tugging her hair out, Clarke takes her sketchbook and calms down by drawing a rough outline of his freckles. 

 

Drawing him is easier now that he’s back, and it hurts less than before. 

 

Her distress over whether to invite him or not is short-lived.Once the AC in Murphy’s unit is repaired, one of the maintenance men discovers termites in the floorboards.Emori barely has time to bat her puppy eyes before Clarke is packing her bag and heading upstairs.Bellamy chuckles as she walks back into his unit. 

 

She stays for five days this time, and things are different.Before she falls asleep on the couch for a second time, there’s a cup in the bathroom to hold both their toothbrushes.The next day, he sets out the cream and sugar for her when he pours his coffee.On the third afternoon, there’s a sheet folded on top of the blanket for the couch. 

 

On the fourth morning, she wakes up with a sharp crick in her back.Bellamy’s brow furrows as he watches her spend five minutes trying to stretch it out. 

 

“Couch getting uncomfortable?” he asks.

 

“It’s fine, probably just the angle,” Clarke says, shrugging and picking up their glasses from the night before.“Another movie tonight?”

 

Bellamy smiles.“There’s one about the Loch Ness Monster, if you’re interested.”

 

* * *

 

After their shifts end, they return to his unit and she falls asleep right as the credits begin to roll, head pillowed on Bellamy’s chest.

 

Clarke anticipates another morning where she wakes up two hours after he’s left for his early shift, her body sore but warm underneath the blankets. 

 

But the sunlight falls directly into her eyes from a gap in the curtains. Her eyes flicker open to a soft mattress and a plush comforter. 

 

She’s in Bellamy’s bed.A memory of campfire and a smoky voice floats through her mind before she can stop it. 

 

Her muscles lack their usual twinges. She rises immediately and surveys the room, still clad in her pajamas.There’s no evidence that he slept beside her, and when she peeks into the living room, her pillow still rests on the couch.

 

So either he carried her to his bed last night and slept on the couch, or he moved her first thing in the morning.Clarke lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head at the floor. 

 

“You’re spoiling me, Bell.” 

 

She doesn’t mention it when he returns to his — their? —unit later that day.And when she wakes up the next morning in the same arrangement, she paces quietly to the living room, where he dozes on the couch. 

 

He cracks his eyes open when she clears her throat. Clarke smiles at him, tilting her head.

“I’m flattered that you want me to be sleeping better, but I know your back must be worse than mine.”

 

Bellamy chuckles, sitting up. 

 

“I figured that if one of us should have the aching back, it shouldn’t be the one who’s on her feet all day helping sick people.”

 

Clarke smiles, “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, Murphy should be able to move back into his unit within the week.Maybe Emori will go with him.”

Something falls from Bellamy’s face as he stands up to make coffee. 

“Yeah, I guess - you’d want your own space back.”

 

Clarke bites her lip as she watches him pour a cup. She likes him in this state, curly hair a mess, t-shirt stretched across his shoulders, baggy shorts.

 

It hits her how much she’s going to miss him when she goes back. 

 

* * *

 

“You were invited to this rave too, you know,” Clarke reminds him when she steps out of the bathroom in her robe.He notes her coiffed hair, necklaces, and makeup with a slight smile. 

 

“Raves aren’t my thing, Princess.”In truth, he’s indifferent to partying, but the sight of her things packed by the door puts a sharp feeling in his gut.

 

Clarke sighs, pacing to the garment bag hanging by a hook on the door.“It would only be a few hours,” she replies, adding, “with alcohol, and me.”

 

Bellamy smirks at her cheeky smile.“Enticing, but I agreed to take Miller’s shift tonight.”His eyes flicker to the garment bag.“Quite a gift from Russell.”

 

Clarke shakes her head.“Just a courtesy — he offered to get new clothes for you, too.”She scoffs when Bellamy raises his eyebrow.“Russell isn’t enamored with me.”

 

“Not sure about that,”Bellamy mutters under his breath, but Clarke doesn’t hear him.A smile sweeps her face as she unzips the bag.

 

“Oh Bellamy, it’s beautiful!” 

 

He looks up as she twirls to face him, gently clutching blue fabric against her body.A smile glows on his face.“Matches your eyes,” he says warmly. 

 

Clarke looks at the digital time displayed on the wall.“It’s getting late, I’ll have to change now.”She lays the dress on the ottoman.Bellamy notices her hand nearing the sash of her robe and immediately stands up, turning his back to her. 

 

Clarke catches his reaction and raises a brow.“Oh should I have put this on in another room?” she asks. 

 

Bellamy rubs the nape of his neck.“Or I could move, if you’d prefer that.” 

 

Clarke chuckles, “No, stay there, I might need help with this.”She slips off the robe and smiles shyly at Bellamy’s fidgeting figure.“Glad to see that chivalry survived a century in cryo.” 

 

Bellamy huffs in response.Clarke slides the dress over her curves, up to her shoulders, but then frowns as she reaches for the zipper. 

 

“Oh, dammit, this might not fit,” she mutters.

 

“Need a hand?” Bellamy takes a discreet glance over his shoulder, seeing Clarke mirroring his pose.The line of her back is smooth, broken only by the band of a black brassiere.It feels vaguely familiar.His throat goes dry. 

 

“Just closing it up, yeah,” she says, stirring him.

 

He paces over and chases away his water-induced fantasy with memories of his mother’s dressmaking. 

“Yeah, this does seem small,” he says quietly, hands hovering over her hips.

 

“I think I can wear it,” she nods, leaning imperceptibly into his hands. 

 

“Okay, then take a breath and hold it,” he whispers, pressing his left hand against her stomach.Clarke puts her hand over his, her diaphragm tensing as her cheeks warm.The zipper slides up neatly.Bellamy shuts his eyes and gets a rush of her floral shampoo, a hint of heady perfume from her neck. 

 

“How’s that, too tight?” he asks, dropping his hand from her stomach and spinning her around with the other one.Clarke’s hand find his as she regards herself.

 

“No Bell, it’s perfect,” she grins, both hands clasped in his. 

 

“You are,” he says, works slipping easily out of his mouth.She looks up, rainwater eyes suddenly doe-like.

 

“What?”

 

“The dress — I-I meant that you look perfect,” he stammered.“It’s really a knockout.” 

 

“Thanks,” Clarke says, a blush rising to her face.With the night-blood, it’s more of a lavender than a pink, but she still looks impossibly adorable.There’s a flurry of movement outside his door — people heading to the rave, most likely.She takes a step closer to him, her face inches from his. 

 

“I’m sure…” Clarke takes a breath, “sure that Miller would understand if you wanted to walk me home tonight.” 

 

There’s a clench in his jaw, and his hands nearly tremble as they tighten around hers.One little sentence, a bat of her eyelashes, and she’s led them hand in hand back to the ledge of this fucking precipice.Bellamy takes a gulp. 

 

“I could swing by once the shift ends, but you’d have to tell me whether ‘home’ is this unit or yours.” 

 

Her eyes freeze, and she pulls away from him.

 

“Hadn’t decided that yet, Bellamy,” she says coldly, “but I guess I have my answer.” She grabs her clutch from the table and heads for the door.His hand catches hers right as she crosses the threshold. 

 

“Clarke — I’m sorry, I’ll be there two hours before first light,” he says, his eyes pleading hers to lose their anger.Before he loses his nerve, he leans in and presses a kiss to her temple.

“You look nice, I hope you have a good time.” 

 

Her eyes stay flared.“Have a good evening,” she says curtly, her voice quivering slightly before she turns and strides away. 

 

He steps hazily back into his unit, barely registering the door closing. He rubs a hand over his face, as he sinks into the chair.

 

“You really fucked that one up,” he mutters to himself. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm splitting up this chapter into two parts.  
> Hopefully I'll be able to finish it before season 6 starts but I'm not sure, because I have a lot of schoolwork. 
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy Bellamy seeing Clarke in that dress!!!


	4. a handhold apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has a tumultuous time at the party, and Bellamy reencounters her.

 

Her heels make satisfying, sharp, staccato clicks against the floor as she left Bellamy's unit. The bag she had carried her clothes in, which she had managed to grab before shutting his door, bounces from her arm.Her cheeks are still flaring at his petulance.To imply that she cannot commit to living alone, or living with him, when he knows that the time they had shared together was a temporary measure, and then to kiss her face afterwards.... he was a walking conundrum with strong shoulders and a dark sense of humor. 

 

“Damn him,” she says to herself. “And forget him tonight.” 

 

The basement of the housing building had been converted into a neon-pop rave scene that evening.Two staircases at either ends of the vast room descend into a spectacle lit by flashing lights.Clarke takes a deep breath, fluffing her hair as she begins walking down into the party.A memory flickers to mind — the smoky warmth of a campfire, moonshine tingling in her mouth, the crisp, sweet scent of an apple. 

 

_“Best Unity Day Ever.”_

 

She shakes him from her thoughts, reaching for a bubbly flute which reminds her of Alpha Station’s champagne.

 

She remembers a different Unity Day, where she had snuck away at 14 for a ‘study session,’ only to tag along to a party with some of her older peers.She recalls them knocking back shots of bootleg booze distilled from the algae farm.They had offered one to her, but she had wrinkled her nose and refused.That party was the place where she'd had her first kiss, so many, many years ago.

 

And this rave was equally vivacious, playing some electro-funk beat that she feels in her chest.She takes another sip of her drink, the taste seeming to change from pineapple to raspberries.Delicious nonetheless, and she senses her blood starting to sing.

 

She starts a slow walk around the dance floor, enjoying the desiring gazesof men and women.The lights dance in front of her — pink, purple, blue — and she grins to herself. The night was free for her to take it wherever the hell she wanted. 

 

“Maybe I’ll go home with someone,” she muses, as she picks up another drink, this one a bright blue and lemony to the taste.She might as well break her 6 — or might as well say 132 — year dry spell on an evening when her nightblood ward was off being supervised by another adult. 

 

A small voice of caution whispers in the back of her head, but she ignores it.Setting down her third — or fourth? —empty glass, she glides into the middle of the dance floor. She shuts her eyes and tilts her head back, enjoying the push and sway of the bodies around her.Each new song pushes away more of her worries and troubles. 

 

After a while, she notices a hand gently touching her hip, a presence dancing behind her.She looks down at the stranger’s hand — masculine, but pale as moon with slim fingers.She feels no calluses when she presses her own hand over his, and she swallows the lump of disappointment in her throat. 

 

Her stranger has bright green hair when she turns to face him.

 

“Call me Nix,” he says, with a smile that quite literally glitters.

 

Clarke smiles back.“My name’s Clarke.” 

 

She sways against him for barely a minute before another figure strides up to them.Clarke pales, worried that she is stuck yet again between two halves of a lovers’ quarrel.But this woman grins at her, teeth a little too pointed to be natural.She presses her hands into Clarke’s, with dazzling orange hair and smelling of tangerines. 

 

“I’m Vivian,” she says in a breathy voice, “and you are so fucking precious.”

 

Clarke giggles and introduces herself again.For a few songs, she dances with Nix and Vivian, rocking back and further.Both of them whisper sweet nothings, filling her ears with compliments on her face, hair, body, dress, how happy they are to see her, happy that she came from outer space. Their pretty words intoxicate Clarke further, and she lip-syncs to the rather raunchy song playing through the speakers. It’s a song from Old Earth, oneto which Abby caught her listening at age 12 and scolded her.The couple titters and draws her closer.Vivian’s dainty hands skitter up and down Clarke’s exposed arms, hovering briefly on her necklaces.Nix presses kisses into her hair and neck. She laughs again at the ticklish sensations. 

 

“Want to come back to our room?”Vivian asks.

 

“It’ll be so fun,” Nix purrs.Their hands are clasped around Clarke’s hips.She nods, biting her lip.She has never had sex with two people at the same time before.

 

(She adamantly refuses to think about the person she does know who has had these encounters.)

 

The thought sends a thrill down her spine, nonetheless.She nods again, and Nix presses another kiss below her ear. 

 

“Wait by the south staircase in 20 minutes, we have some people to talk to first.” 

 

Then they disappear in the blink of an eye.Clarkes steps off the dance floor as well, her flushed skin welcoming the cool waves of an overhead vent. Another tray of drinks gets passed around, this one ringed with ice and tasting of limes.She laughs as the cocktail makes her stomach warm. She passes the time by pacing the length of the room again.Almost everyone is dressed in outlandish clothes with neon makeup.Many of the hairstyles are bizarre, on men and women alike.One man seems fairly plain.He catches her eye and smiles at her.Clarke considers him, but looks away after evaluating the rather creepy trenchcoat which he wears, open in the front.

 

Minutes pass and she bounces on the balls of her feet.Having soaked in most of the rave, she gravitates towards the south staircase.She inhales deeply to relax herself.

 

She wants to ignore that voice of caution at the back of her head, especially because it’s starting to sound like someone she was already ignoring.

 

“It’s just sex,” she whispers to herself.Sure, it’s been years.Sure, most of the time it makes her fall fast and hard for someone who hurts her, who disappears from her life. 

 

But it doesn’t have to be more than sex. 

 

She hears a flurry of giggles approaching the staircase.She grins as Nix and Vivian come into view, arms looped around each other.

 

“Ready to leave?” Clarke asks, her hand outstretched.But the couple is entirely caught up in themselves, kissing and groping each other with every step.Her hand brushes Nix’s arm, but he never turns around.They stumble up the staircase without sparing Clarke a single glance. 

 

The stifling air suddenly seems cold. 

 

Something akin to a stone lodges in Clarke’s chest.Those two had undoubtedly heard rumors about who she was, and they were curious, intrigued.She wasn’t more than a passing fantasy to them. 

 

Teardrops sneak down her cheeks before she can stop them. She dabs them away, embarrassed and furious at herself.She walks a little too quickly to the bar and slaps down a coin for another drink. The burn of it soothes that stone in her chest, albeit barely.

 

She looks around at the rave that had enchanted her earlier.Now the music is pounding too loudly, now the lights are too bright, decorations too gaudy. 

 

And these people are not her people. 

 

She stands up hesitantly from her stool.The bartender had offered her a second, complimentary drink, having noticed her morose expression. 

 

She downed the last third of it, her head numb and feet unsteady.She managed to get to the stairs without falling, grasping the railing like a lifeline.

 

Each step makes her stomach roil, but she reaches the top.She takes a deep breath, her unit only another staircase away. 

 

Then someone grabs her wrist. 

 

* * *

 

Bellamy drops his jacket off at his unit before pacing down the stairs.Too anxious for dressing up properly, he rolls up the sleeves of his henley and roughs a hand through his hair.

 

It had felt like a miracle when Murphy came to relieve him halfway through the shift.When Bellamy stepped away from the compound, his thoughts go right back to that argument. 

 

Apprehension bites at his insides.He had to fix this, clear the air between them.He takes the steps two at a time.If she’s enjoying herself at this party, he’ll try to give her space.

 

If she already went home with someone…. Bellamy pushes that jealousy down deep in his chest, locking it away like a safe deposit box. 

 

As he rounds the hallway on the first floor, he hears a commotion up ahead.A man is trying to talk with someone.His back blocks them from Bellamy’s gaze, but he can spot the man’s hand holding a wrist, slim and faintly tanned.Then the other person pushes away and storms down the hallway.Blonde hair and a figure wrapped in blue satin. 

 

Bellamy’s heart rate ratchets up a notch.

 

“Hey… Hey!” He doesn’t collide with her, but there is a slight bounce and sway as he holds her shoulders.“Clarke, Clarke are you alright?”

 

“What’s the point?” 

 

Clarke looks at him, her eyes angry and slightly glazed over.

 

Her words are strung too close together, and her breath smells sweet-sharp.Her hands find fistfuls of his shirt. 

 

Her wrists jerk as if she’s unsure of pushing him away or pulling him in. 

 

“Love, desire, sex, it’s all nonsense, just stupid fucking nonsense.”

 

Suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe. 

 

“Okay, let’s get back to your room, and we can talk about it, alright?” he says in a quiet tone, hoping it keeps this exchange private and soothes her. Clarke looks as if she’s going to fight him, but then clasps a hand over her mouth and nods.

 

Bellamy puts an arm around her waist as they walk down the rest of the hallway and up the stairs.She sways with each step, her head lolling in a manner which agitates him. 

 

“Did anyone give you a drink?” he asks tersely.She shakes her head.

 

“Just the bartender, I watched him pour it.”

 

Bellamy sighs, his jaw clenching nonetheless. Coherency was a good sign, at least.

 

Clarke lets out a little bit of a scoff when they reach her door.

 

“Good thing I grabbed my stuff earlier, we didn’t have to walk up another fucking flight.”

 

Bellamy’s jaw clenches again as he watches her stumble with the keycode.

“Yeah, great foresight.”

 

He watches her stumble with it twice and bats her hand away to key it in properly.Once they’re inside, Clarke abruptly drops her purse and her shoes, reeling again.

 

Bellamy barely has time to kick off his own shoes when Clarke dashes into the bathroom.He sighs, following her and crouching beside the toilet just as she starts to retch.

 

“There you go, easy,” he murmurs.He holds her hair away from her face with one hand and strokes her back with the other. 

 

“Those drinks are merciless,” Clarke says with a rasp, her body shuddering.

 

“I’m more concerned with what drove you to have them.”

 

After a few more minutes, Clarke sits back on her heels, breathing deeply.She wipes her face with a tissue and Bellamy pours her a glass of water from the sink.Once the flush clears, the silence in the bathroom is taut with tension. 

 

“I wasn’t drinking because of our fight,” says Clarke, more lucid, but her words flowing easier than usual.She sits with her back to the tub, and Bellamy sits next to her.

 

“What happened at the party?” he asks quietly.She stares down at her hands.

 

“I got there, had a couple drinks, I was starting to have a good time, but I …” Her words trail off and she bites her lip.Bellamy notices the water marks left on her worn makeup by her tears, and he reaches for the cleaning spray she keeps in one of the drawers. Clarke takes it and sprays a tissue to dab across her face. 

 

“There you are,” he whispers.Her tired eyes remind him of the first nights at the dropship, when they were up until dawn figuring out patrol schedules and water rationing.Of the wars and adventures that robbed them of a good night’s sleep. 

 

“I was dancing with this couple,”Clarke says, her eyes fixed on the floor tiles.“They were flirting with me, telling me all these things.…” 

“What kind of things?”

 

“Mostly comments on how pretty I was.” 

 

Bellamy nods.As he senses where the story is heading, he holds out his hand.Clarke takes it hesitantly.

 

“Then they wanted me to go back with them, and I agreed.I was tipsy, but I was…. horny and desperate.Pathetic, really. And when I tried to leave with them….” She bites her lip and heaves a breath.“They just forgot about me.”

 

Bellamy feels her sadness hit him like a wave, and he pulls her into his side.Tears slide down her face and she cries in earnest, letting out feelings repressed throughout the night. 

 

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“It’s been so long since I had that,” she wipes at her face.“Since I was touched like that.” 

 

Revelation hits Bellamy like a punch.

 

“Two months on your own, then six years with someone who relied on you for everything,” he says quietly. Clarke nods, stifling another cry. 

 

“All those nights I looked up at the sky and I just wanted yo- wanted someone else with me who could hold me and tell me that I didn’t have to do it alone.”

 

Bellamy holds her tighter, gently tracing his fingertips down her arm. 

 

“You’re never going back to that place,” he whispers, “you’ll never be in that situation again.” Clarke bites her lip.

 

“But I’m just … so silly, that after everything, I’m bold enough to think I deserve things like passion and love.”

 

“Clarke,”something catches in Bellamy’s chest, deepening his voice,“Don’t go down that path. Don’t drown in it.” The unspoken _“like I did”_ nearly falls off his lips. 

 

Clarke looks at him, and his chest hurts.Her face has touches of lilac from the heat of her tears and her eyes are clear as crystal. Crystal and glowing like topaz. 

 

“I know there isn’t anything wrong with what I wanted to do,” she says.

 

“I’d certainly be a hypocrite if I disagreed,” he replies, lips stretching into a soft smile as hers do the same.Her breathing soothes and she even shrugs.

 

“And I understand those two getting wrapped up in each other, I don’t hate them for it.”She lets out a sigh.“Casual sex is fun but… I’m not sure if it was the right choice for tonight.”

 

Bellamy tilts his head.“What do you mean?”

 

Clarke looks down at their hands.He really should be pouring her another cup of water and then helping her get to bed.But he hangs on to the thread she has just pulled between them.

 

“I don’t want my first time in so many years to be with someone I don’t know.We haven’t been here for more than a few months, these people are still strangers to us.And I really, really need to know someone before I can trust them.”

 

His traitorous mind echoes the sound of her “ _I trust you_ ,” spoken so many years ago.He swallows, and he catches her eyes watching the bob of his Adam’s apple.His gaze drops to his hand still clasped around hers. His thumb glides across her knuckles. 

 

“Trust and love go hand in hand, don’t they?”he finally asks.He lifts his head, and his heart stutters.She is looking at him, eyes hopeful and yearning and fond all at once.

 

“Yes, they do,” she says, answering his coded question.Her lashes bat as her gaze drops to his mouth.He sees the slightest touch of her tongue to her bottom lip as they lock eyes again. 

 

The desire of a kiss pulls at him like a siren song.But she has been venting the woes of a drunk woman, and he has not had a drop of liquor all night.He drops her hand to fill her cup with water again.Clarke looks slightly crestfallen. 

 

“I’m not pushing you away,” he says quietly.“I just want you to have a clear head, alright?” 

 

“Will you wait another hour?” she asks.Bellamy chuckles. 

 

“I can wait till morning, we both should rest.”He gives her the cup and then stands, holding out his hand.She takes it and stands up, barely swaying.He opens the door to her room and sees that she had made her bed prior to staying with him. 

 

“There’s a nightshirt in the top drawer,” Clarke says, hands reaching for the zipper on her dress.She lets out a groan as her hands fumble across the seam.

 

“What is it?”Bellamy asks, back turned to her as he closes the drawer. 

 

“I needed you to get me into this, and I may need you to get me out of it.” 

 

Bellamy mutters a curse under his breath, shifting the night shirt to one hand as he crosses the floor. 

 

Clarke grins at him cheekily as his fingertips brush against her neck.

 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he says, shutting his eyes as he unzips the dress by a quarter and hands her the nightshirt. 

 

He turns on his heel torefill her glass from the bathroom, and when he returns, she’s already sitting in bed, underneath the covers.

 

“Get some sleep,” he says gently, putting the glass down on her nightstand. She reaches for his hand before he can step away.

 

“Stay with me, please.”

 

“I shouldn’t. Emori might come back in the morning.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes.

 

“Her room is just about empty, she won’t.” 

 

Bellamy sighs.“I want you to be comfortable.”

 

Clarke raises a brow.“I’ve already slept in your bed, Bellamy Blake, one that you carried me into.I think I can now sleep in a bed _with you in it_.”

 

Bellamy lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. 

 

“Alright,” he murmurs, turning off the nightstand’s lamp. “Give me a minute.”

 

In the darkness, he takes his pants off and slides into the sheets beside her. She lays on her side facing him, and he mirrors her.The bed is smaller than his, but there’s enough space between them for their hands to rest on the pillow. 

 

Bellamy falls asleep with Clarke’s hand clasped to his chest.

 

And when the first sun rises midway, he’ll tell her a secret that he’s held for over a century.

 

He will tell her that she has claimed and reclaimed his heart. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this update a bit overdue?  
> Am I a monster for dragging out a three shot to a five shot?  
> Yes and Yes. 
> 
> I've been job hunting these past few weeks but now I have a job and I should be able to manage my time more that I won't be stuck listlessly at home. 
> 
> I really, really hope that I was able to evoke some strong poignancy in their conversation. 
> 
> Please share your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm confident in posting this, but writing it (in the middle of the night because once I started, I couldn't stop), writing it was definitely a hill for me to overcome because I was raised really conservative. My parents found out that I wrote fic back when I was like 14 or 15 and essentially told me "don't write this, write original stuff." So I feel like I lost a couple years of being in the fic community because I was dealing with this internalized stuff, especially when it came to erotica. This is my first E-rated fic, first one where I didn't make the details fuzzy, and I know this style is pretty different from other smut. 
> 
> And this whole fic is based off my own experiences; I'm thankful to be in love with someone who's helped me get over my mental walls about sex. Just as I felt amazed after writing it, I hope you enjoyed reading it. 
> 
> Please drop some comments! Thank you!


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